


Mercy is not a courtesy currently that occurs to me

by LiviKate



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friendship, Insecurity, M/M, Mostly Otayuri, embarrassed Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: “How is Katsuki Yuuri?”“I don’t know,” the younger boy admitted. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I texted Viktor to see if the little piggy was over himself yet, but he didn’t respond.”“You didn’t phrase it like that, did you?”The silence was very telling.  Or,Yuri is careless and proud and hurts Yuuri's feelings. Viktor is careful and proud and hurts Yuri's feelings. Otabek helps fix it all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yuri is always Yurio from Yuuri's perspective, so I had to decide with Yuuri would be from Yuri's perspective. I decided in larger part on Katsudon, which is backed by canon, and then got cute with Katsu as a nickname. Fairly certain that's not how nick-naming convention works in Russian, or Japan for that matter. But here we are. 
> 
> Also, Google Translate tells me котенок means kitten. So here I shall stay.
> 
> Title taken from Don't Be Nice by Watsky, which I bet Yuri rocks out to.

Yuri was playing videogames at Viktor’s apartment. Not because he liked hanging out with him or Katsudon, of course not, they were total losers. Losers who happened to have a giant TV, all the new first person shooter games and probably the softest sofa he’d ever laid down on. The fact that their guest room was filled with his clothes and their guest bathroom had a toothbrush of his that needed replacing had nothing to do with anything.

He was snarling at the screen, angry that the team he’d joined was revealing themselves to be absolute shit, when his phone pinged with a new message. He left the round, mumbling a “screw you” to the team, and checked the message. It was a picture from Otabek, of him frowning softly at the camera while his new kitten, a yellow little thing called Tiger, chewed on his hair.

It is possible he made some sort of involuntary sound of delight when he saw it. That would explain why Kastudon perked up suddenly. He looked up from his tablet and smiled at him in that obnoxiously earnest way that didn’t at all make Yuri feel loved and comforted.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“No one,” he grumbled, shoulders pulling up and tilting his phone away protectively.

“I bet it was Otabek,” the little piggy teased him. Yuri bristled.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Nothing, I’m just glad you two are staying in touch,” Katsudon smiled that smile where his eyes close and he looks trusting and kind and Yuri can’t get over how idiotically vulnerable the man always makes himself.

“Of course we’re staying in touch, he’s my only friend. I need a break from hanging out with you all the time, so I can talk to someone I actually like.”

“Oh,” Piggy said shortly. A strange look passed over his face before he smiled that dumb smile that Yuri knew meant he was hiding something. “Well then I hope he visits soon.”

“He’ll be here next week,” Yuri shared begrudgingly. Kastudon nodded pleasantly, and Yuri couldn’t help but feel like he’d just asked permission or something like that. He grumbled to himself about nearly being an adult and turned back to his video game. The piggy went back to his tablet and they sat in companionable silence, the kind that Yuri didn’t get to experience with many other people. Definitely not Mila or Viktor.

Speaking of Viktor, it was only another twenty minutes or so until Viktor was sweeping back in the door, his skates flung over his shoulder and shopping bags in hand.

“I had the most marvelous idea when I was out today!” he said. “We should have family dinner. I bought everything we need to make katsudon pirozhkis.”

Yuri was in the middle of formulating an appropriately disgusted reaction at such a wonderful idea when the smile slipped off of Viktor’s face and fell with the groceries to the ground. As quick as he was on ice, suddenly he was at Katsudon’s feet, kneeling before the other man.

“Yuuri, my dear, what’s wrong?” he asked, and Yuri looked with surprise to see that the Japanese man was red eyed and sallow cheeked. He quickly turned off the game and left the room, hoping the fast-paced violence hadn’t somehow triggered Katsudon’s anxiety. He headed to the kitchen and put the kettle on for hot chocolate, the kind Viktor always made for him when he was homesick, and then went to his room. _The guest room_ , he corrected himself. He never knew what to do when Katsu was upset, so he usually just made himself scarce and let Viktor handle it.

He ventured out an hour or so later when he smelled noodles cooking. Viktor was alone in the kitchen, stirring the noodles with a furrow between his brows.

“Careful, you’ll wrinkle, old man,” Yuri said gruffly, sliding up to sit on the barstool. Viktor didn’t smile and bite back like he was supposed to. Instead, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking older and more tired than Yuri could remember.

“I think you should go, Yurio. Give Yuuri a little space.”

Yuri balked, hands gripping the countertop even as he leaned back in angry surprise.

“You can’t send me to my room like a child,” he exclaimed. “You’re not my dad!”

“And this isn’t your home,” Viktor shouted back at him, face flushing with anger. Yuri couldn’t remember the last time he’d yelled at him and he sat in shock for a moment as the older man took a deep breath and continued on. “You come here to use our stuff and insult my fiancé. You stay because you hate walking home in the cold.”

There was another moment of stunned silence. Yuri felt his face getting hot and he didn’t know why he was so embarrassed.

“What about the pirozhkis?” he asked, before shutting his lips tight against the small sound of his own voice.

“Later,” Viktor said tiredly. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“No,” he said, shoulders crawling back towards his ears as he shut out the disappointed look on Viktor’s face. He found it in him to bristle, falling back into familiar habits. “I didn’t want to have lame family dinner with you anyway.” He slammed the door on his way out.

About halfway to his grandfather’s house, he realized he left his warmest coat in the closet. He shivered the rest of the way. He pulled out his phone and texted Otabek with numb fingers.

           

| I can’t wait to see you.

 

Beka (─‿‿─)♡

            | Be there in a few days.

 

Yuri thought they would be a long few days, if Viktor and Yuuri were mad at him. He’d planned on staying with Otabek there. He supposed he could ask his grandpa. But he thought Viktor’s endless teasing would be better than Grandpa’s constant supervision.

He thought about the wrinkly frown on Viktor’s face and hunched further into his jacket. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

 

.--. --- --- .-. / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / -.-- ..- .-. ..

 

It was a few, very tense days later when Otabek finally arrived in Russia. They were laying together on Yuri’s tiny bed in Grandpa’s apartment, Yuri’s feet propped on the wall at the head of the bed, Otabek’s legs dangling off the opposite edge. Their shoulders fit into the curve of their waists to make room for them both. It was just for economy of space, and had nothing to do with the fact that Yuri liked how the boy felt like fire against his whole side and how when he turned his head his forehead bumped against the sharp curve of his hipbone. He didn’t think about biting it at all.

“How is Yuuri?” Beka asked.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled in response and smirked at the ceiling when he heard Otabek sigh his eye-rolling sigh.

“How is Katsuki Yuuri?”

“I don’t know,” the younger boy admitted. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I texted Viktor to see if the little piggy was over himself yet, but he didn’t respond.”

“You didn’t phrase it like that, did you?”

The silence was very telling.

“Have you been home since it happened?”

“No, they, um,” he began, squirming a little with the unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment and hurt mixing in his stomach. “They started locking the door. I don’t have a key but I know the elevator code for the penthouse, so they used to just leave the front door unlocked. But I went by the other day and it was locked.”

“Yuri,” Otabek said sadly, one hand closing over his bony wrist. Yuri was glad he couldn’t see his face.

“I don’t care,” he lied. It was silent for another couple beats. Beka’s thumb slid back and forth across his pale skin and he loosened his arms from the tight cross over his chest, turning his wrist up in his grip, so he could touch the soft skin of his inner arm instead of the bony bump of his wrist. He took a deep breath. “Katsudon has been acting weird around me.”

“Weird how?”

“Everytime he sees me, he’s so polite,” Yuri complained, thinking about lackluster greetings at the rink, professional and cool.

“He’s always polite, Yura.”

“He acts like he doesn’t even know me.” Yuri’s voice was small, and he turned his body into Beka’s side, making himself just as small.

“котенок, have you given him the chance?” Yuri let out a sad sound, one he would never admit to, but Beka heard it. He, too, turned on his side, before wrapping his hands around the boy’s slender waist and yanking him up the bed until they were closer to eye level. Yuri squawked as he was moved, but didn’t protest.

“Why don’t you ask Yuuri how he’s doing, instead of asking Viktor?”

“Because,” Yuri said childishly, realizing there was no good answer.

“Maybe you think that you might be in the wrong?” Yuri was momentarily distracted by the fact that Otabek’s lips were level with his eyes. They hadn’t kissed yet, but Yuri thought that maybe they wanted to. He named his cat after him, after all.

“Yuri,” he said, to grab is attention, and Yuri like the way his mouth moved around his name. It made something predatory preen inside him. “Yuri,” Otabek said again, bumping his forehead into his chin for attention.

“Right, sorry,” he said, face flaming.

“Maybe you should say you’re sorry to Katsu and Viktor.” Yuri didn’t mention the fact that Beka was one of the only people he ever apologized to.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” he confessed into the quiet space between their noses.

“If he stopped treating you like a friend, maybe you made him feel like he wasn’t.”

Something that felt a lot like shame coiled hotly in this chest and Yuri groaned against the terrible feeling. It didn’t take a single word for Otabek to sit up, turn around on the bed and pull the younger skater in against his chest. Yuri stuck his head under his chin and thought that maybe he didn’t want to have just one friend.

 

\--. --- / --. . - / - .... . -- --..-- / -.-- ..- .-. ..

 

Apologizing wasn’t his strong suit, and Yuri wasn’t one hundred percent sure he knew how to do it. He took Beka with him, because the only thing more embarrassing than doing this in front of him would be chickening out and telling him so. He waited for Viktor to post something on his snapchat story of the two of them in the apartment, so he knew someone would open the door when he knocked.

He had a moment of panic outside the door where he worried that they knew it was him, as he was the only person who could get through the elevator, and would pretend not to be home. He should’ve had the doorman ring him up, or call ahead, he could’ve given a fake name then, they wouldn’t’ve have been able to shut him out. He was sweating a lot, which was disgusting, especially because he’d desperately grabbed Beka’s hand in the elevator and the older skater had kindly not said anything about it.

The door opened and Yuri didn’t even have time to be relieved. Viktor was on the other side, smiling that smile he smiles for his fans, fake and guarded.

“Oh Yurio,” he said pleasantly, as if he hadn’t been ignoring him for weeks. “We thought you’d be around soon!” Yuri frowned in confusion. He’d been here, trying to get in every other day for the past week. “You brought Otabek, wonderful.” Viktor pulled open the door and Yuri’s heart started beating all the faster when he saw the pile of cardboard boxes in the living room, all labeled YURIO. “I hope you brought your Grandpa’s truck.”

Yuri’s vision was blurring a bit and his face suddenly felt incredibly hot. His hand was sore where it was gripping shatteringly tight around Beka’s but the older boy didn’t make a sound, presumably as shocked as Yuri.

The teen looked from the boxes to Viktor and watched his face morph from cool detachment to shock at the tears in his eyes. He looked over his shoulder to the couch, where Katsu was sitting, holding onto Makkachin as he tried to wiggle out of his arms to come greet the younger skater. Katsu looked at him with a face that was firmed with resolution and tempered with hurt, his jaw clenched and his brows drawn. Yuri choked in a breath.

“Are you trying to teach me a lesson?” he asked, his voice quieter than he wanted it to be. “Or do you really not want me around? Because I get it. Either way, I’m sorry, and I get it.”

“котенок,” Otabek said quietly beside him, squeezing his hand even tighter, reminding him that he wasn’t there alone. Yuri wiped his other hand across his face in frustration.

“Yurio, no, we’re not trying to teach you a lesson,” Viktor said, and Yuri didn’t think that soft voice had ever been used for him before. By anyone.

“Fine,” he spat, hackles raised, hoping they’d hide his tears. “I wont bother you anymore, then.” His face was hot and it just got hotter. He’d never been more embarrassed. “C’mon, Beka.” He tried to turn, to pull the older boy back out the door with him, but the Kazakh remained still, holding him in place. A full tear dropped onto his cheek as he yanked on his arm, shame telling him to flee.

“Yura, wait,” Otabek said, his voice as quiet and steady as ever. Yuri looked in his face and saw calm there. Sympathy and calm, and a sort of reassurance that things would be okay. He wiped his cheek and hung his head, going limply when Beka pulled him in front of him, holding him tightly against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, thinking that maybe he wanted him to finish his apology. Even if Viktor and Katsu didn’t want him around anymore, he still owed them what he came here to say.

“Yurio, its okay,” Katsudon said, standing up and stepping in front of the boxes as if blocking them from view would take back however long the two of them must’ve spent packing them up. “If you want to stay, all you have to do is say so.”

“You’re the one who locked me out,” Yuri yelled, angry and embarrassed. Makkachin trotted over to lick desperately at his fingertips, pawing at his shins for attention. Yuri sunk his free hand into the pup’s silky, bouncy fur. He was so angry but his touch was still gentle for the dog. “You told me to leave, you treated me like a fucking _fan_ , you packed all my shit into boxes and told me to go!”

“You said you didn’t want to be here,” Katsudon said, taking careful steps forward like Yuri was some kind of wild animal that he didn’t want to spook. “You said you didn’t even like us, that we weren’t even friends.”

“Obviously I didn’t mean it,” he said exasperatedly, hugging one arm across his chest, the other hand still tightly held.

“Then why would you say it?” Katsu asked, his face horrifyingly earnest.

“Because it’s fucking embarrassing.” He stood absolutely still and tense, refusing to give into the urge to fidget. His jaw clenched, even more so when Viktor started to smile again.

“You say all the time that Otabek is your friend,” Viktor said teasingly, and Yuri knew immediately that he had already forgiven him and was now taking revenge. “You’re not embarrassed about that.”

“That’s different,” he said sullenly, feeling Beka’s hand twitch in his grip. He held on tighter. “There still stuff I don’t tell him, so it’s even.” When Yuri cautioned a look at Otabek’s face, he found a single brow raised slightly.

“Yurio, do you want to stay?” Katsu asked, petting Makkachin on the other side of his head, very purposefully not touching Yuri’s hand at all, but close enough that maybe it counted.

“Duh, loser,” he said looking down at his shoes. There was quiet for a moment, as Katsudon and Viktor looked at each other, deliberating.

“Well,” Viktor said, clapping his hands with finality. “Put your stuff back in your room and then help us make dinner. We still have the stuff to make pirozhkis.” Yuri peeked up through his hair and saw Viktor offering him a kind smile, and Yuri accepted gratefully. As grateful as he was able.

“You’re the ones who took all my shit out of my room, you should be the ones to put it back,” he grumbled, but hurried to take a box and scurry it back to the guest room. _His_ room. Otabek appeared in his doorway with the other three boxes, stacked high and straining his arms attractively. He put them in the middle of the room and gave Yuri a look. For a moment he was afraid he was disappointed, or angry, or any emotion that he hadn’t yet learned to clearly read on the other man’s near-indecipherable face. But then the corner of his mouth curved into a smile and Yuri smiled back, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

Otabek brought his hand up and flexed it, staring at the pale and pink lines with faux concern. He made a fist and winced theatrically.

“Oh shut up,” Yuri said, pulling a tiger print pillow from the top of his box and throwing it at him. “I was nervous,” he said shyly.

“You did good,” Otabek said, coming forward to tuck his blond hair behind his ear. “I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want you around.”

Yuri ducked his head shyly, but followed without protest when Beka drew him into a hug, one hand cupping the back of his head in a way that made him feel safe, like Grandpa’s big coats or Katsu’s smile.

“Yurio,” Viktor called. “You two can make out later, come help with dinner.”

Yuri jumped away, face flaming with embarrassment. Otabek let out what passed for a chuckle from him, and Yuri grumbled all the way to the kitchen.

“Wash your hands, Yurio,” Katsu said like such a dad.

“You”re right, with those two alone, we don’t know where they’ve been,” Viktor teased, and Yuri made a show of dying against the kitchen counter.

 

.--. .-. . -.-. .. --- ..- ... / -.-- ..- .-. ..

 

Dinner was great, made all the greater by Viktor and Katsudon gently teasing him every time he pretended to hate all of it. Which was less than usually, at least in part because Yuri had been so afraid that he would lose all of this. So Yuri said ‘Arigatō’ when Katsu handed him a plate of perfectly made pirozhkis, and he took his and Beka’s plates back to the kitchen when they were finished. He was about to start washing them when Viktor shooed him away, and told him to entertain his guest, with a horribly lewd waggle of his brow.

He flopped back onto the couch next to Beka, burrowing into the soft fluff that he’d missed in the last week. He smiled at Otabek, a real smile, the kind not many people got to see. Otabek gave him a scrutinizing look before catching his chin in his hand.

“What is it you don’t tell me, котенок?” he asked, his voice going dark, the way it does when he’d tired or drunk.

“Embarrassing stuff,” Yuri answered, swallowing as his mouth suddenly went dry.

“Like what? It’s just me,” he said, the hand holding his chin turning to a soft caress over his cheek. His cheek that had a high flag of red coloring it, demonstrating his nerves.

“I know it’s you,” he said softly, looking at him through his hair.

“So tell me,” the other man entreated, tilting his face close, close enough that Yuri could smell him and it was making him a little light headed. Or maybe that was because he forgot to breathe just then.

“I think about kissing you,” he said on a quiet exhale, eyes on Beka’s lips, doing it right then. “A lot. I know it’s wrong, because you’re my friend. But you treat me like an adult and I think your face looks soft.”

Beka’s lips turned up at the corners and Yuri’s ears were on fire.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” he threatened, as much as he could while still being short of breath.

“I won’t,” he promised, before dipping his head to catch Yuri’s lips in a kiss that was as shocking as it was sweet. Yuri hummed a sound of surprise, a tentative hand coming up to brush his cheek. He was right, his face was soft. His lips were softer. And then his tongue… Yuri moaned quietly into his mouth.

They broke apart when Viktor let out a low whistle.

“Now, _Beka_ ,” Viktor said, his voice lilting dangerously “I'm sure you know that Yurio doesn’t turn sixteen for five more weeks.” Yuri groaned, collapsing back against the couch. “I know you just turned eighteen, so there’s not much difference between you, but for as long as Yurio is fifteen, if you lay a single finger on his body we will definitely murder you,” he finished with a smile on his face. “Right sweetheart?” he asked, wrapping an arm around Katsu’s waist.

“Absolutely,” he said, with an equally friendly smile. Yuri covered his face and screamed into his arms like he was being murdered. He felt as if he was.

Otabek let out a low chuckle. He reached out and grabbed Yuri’s forearms, pulling them up from his face and pulling the boy up to seated. Yuri made himself deadweight, allowing Beka to manhandle him but not making it easy. Viktor and Katsudon watched with amused smirks as Yuri glared at them while Otabek pulled on his arms and pushed at his legs. Soon he was arranged comfortably against Beka’s chest, with his arms around him, fingers twined together and resting on his stomach. Otabek turned his head towards Viktor and Katsudon, who were barely holding in laughs at Yuri’s sullen glare.

“Is this okay?” he asked them, the very corner of his mouth turning up in a slight grin.

“I don’t know, Yurio doesn’t look very happy,” Katsu joked, leading Viktor to the other couch by just his pinky, the threatening portion of the evening apparently concluded.

“Are you unhappy, котенок?” Otabek murmured in his ear, his smooth lips, still damp from kissing, pressing against the side of his head, close enough to his ear to tickle.

“No,” he said quietly. He pulled his hands from the other boy’s, pulling one arm across his body to cup his hip, bringing the other up to press a kiss in the palm and settle his thumb in the grove of his collarbone. “That’s better though,” he said, snuggling into his arms, but not before shooting Katsudon a dangerous glare. “Don’t let go.”


End file.
